Note: The characters of Jarod, Sydney, Miss Parker, etc. belong to TNT and whoever else owns them. This is nothing more than me paying tribute to what was a great show. I'm not trying to make money, etc. You know the drill.

This story is pre-pretender movies, since I didn't like where the movies took the story. It doesn't exactly pick up where season four left off either, so you could say this is just one of "those" stories.

Chapter Three

"My car is a couple of blocks over," Trista huffed as they ran, every so often throwing a glance over her shoulder to see if their pursuers had caught up to them yet.

Jarod shook his head, slowing his pace for Trista who was obviously not in very good shape, "No good. They know about you, they'll be watching your car for certain."

"How would they have found my car? It's in a public parking lot several blocks from the hotel," Trista wondered breathlessly.

"We have to assume they've found it by now, Trista. I don't want to risk them finding me or you," Jarod told her.

They stopped; Trista leaned over, her hands resting against her knees as she gasped for breath. Jarod took several gulps of air before his breathing was almost normal again.

"We'll take a cab to a car rental place and get out of San Antonio. Do you need to call anyone and let them know you're going out of town?"

Trista shook her head, "No, I took a couple of months off to take care of Caitlyn. I saved the money while I was pregnant. I'm supposed to return to work in a few weeks."

Jarod frowned, "Shouldn't you let your family know where you are?"

A sad smile hovered on Trista's lips, "I would if I had any family, Jarod. Caitlyn is all I've got now."

Jarod gave her a sheepish smile, "It's hard being alone, isn't it?"

"Yes. You understand that, just like Jeremy did, don't you?" Trista finally realized, "Why do I get the feeling you and Jeremy have a lot more in common than just your sad eyes?"

"Because you have good instincts, Trista. I don't have enough proof of it yet, but I bet I know who has your daughter, though I don't really know why."

She shivered, "I knew he was in trouble, I never realized how serious it was. Maybe I just didn't want to think about it too much."

"No one does. We need to keep moving, though. They won't give up until they've caught us," Jarod told her as he turned to walk.

Scrambling to catch up, Trista was silent for a moment, then asked "If they find us, they'll kill me, won't they?"

As much as he didn't want to admit it, he did, "Yes, I'm certain they will."

There wasn't much talking after that, each lost in their own private thoughts.

Jarod lead them to a small restaurant and called a cab from his cell phone. While they waited, they ordered coffee and chatted about nothing in particular. There were too many prying eyes and ears to have a real discussion about the thoughts that weighed heavily on their minds.

One cab ride and an hour later, they were on their way out of San Antonio. It was after ten already. Jarod was driving, feeling his tension begin to rise as he headed back to the one place he'd once swore to himself he'd never return to.

"Are you going to fill me on what's going on?" Trista's voice interrupted his thoughts.

He didn't actually, but he owed her an explanation on behalf of Jeremy at least. She needed to know what they were up against.

"Remember when I told you I was kidnapped from my parents as a child?" he began.

She nodded, not willing to even utter a sound in fear that he might not explain himself to her.

"I was kidnapped by a powerful and secret corporation known as the Centre in 1963. A couple of years ago, I escaped after I found out that the Centre had been using my genius to destroy innocent lives solely for profit. Ever since, I've been on the run trying to make reparations for what I've done."

"I'm not certain I understand …"

Jarod smiled, realizing what he'd done.

"Sorry. I should have explained it better," he took another breath and began again, "I'm a pretender. I can become anything or anyone I want to become. I've been a doctor, a lawyer, a fireman, a stock broker, a naval officer to name just a few of the professions I've pretended since my escape. With my unique abilities, I can simulate any situation. I've simulated anything from the JFK assassination to better navigational systems for the government. What I didn't know was that the Centre was selling my simulations to the highest bidder to use anyway they saw fit. Because of my abilities, I'm responsible for many innocent deaths."

"But Jarod, you had no idea what they were doing. You're not responsible, the Centre is," Trista argued, when Jarod made no response, she decided to pursue another line of questioning; "I still don't see what this has to do with Jeremy."

"That e-mail I received from my friend this morning, it was about Jeremy, I sure. The Centre was involved in more than just the Pretender Project. I've uncovered so many secrets, so many hidden projects it would literally blow your mind. The Ghost Project is one of the many projects they didn't want anyone to find out about. Only someone who knew what he was looking for and where to look would be able to find it."

"So your friend is still at the Centre?"

Jarod nodded.

Trista's eyes widened, "Then how can you be sure they haven't betrayed you?"

Laughing, Jarod shook his head, "Because I didn't tell him where I was, nor would he been able to find out from the phone call I made. My cell phone is untraceable unless you knew exactly how I obscured the signal. He was also my handler at the Centre. I've known him for more than thirty years; he's more interested in analyzing my genius than hurting me."

Trista gave him a hooded look, "You care a lot about him, don't you? Or else you would have severed all ties to anyone at the Centre unless you needed something. What other little surprises are you keeping from me, Jarod?" she wondered.

"And you're more perceptive than I gave you credit for being, Trista," Jarod countered.

She shook her head, smiling, "I see that's another forbidden subject by your refusal to discuss it. All right, so you think the Centre has taken my daughter?"

"It wouldn't be the first time they've kidnapped a child," he replied bitterly

She turned away, looking out the window at the passing scenery, "Where is the Centre? Where are we going?" she finally asked.

"Blue Cove, Delaware," Jarod growled.

Her conversation with Sydney continued to plague her, especially after the fiasco in San Antonio. Jarod wasn't the only one who was losing sleep over what had happened with the female pretender who'd been the tool Lyle had used to bring Jarod in, and then ended up rescuing him and sacrificing herself in the process. She had boldly proclaimed she would rather die free then live at the Centre and she'd gotten her wish.

What the hell is the matter with you, Parker? She snapped at herself. She had been standing in her office staring blankly at the folders she held in her hand. She refused to allow herself to dwell on it any further.

Standing, she walked out of her office and closed her door behind her. When she looked up, there was a man watching her, his brilliant green eyes searching her face as he stood, halfway in the shadows.

Parker glared back at the man, refusing to be intimidated by his unnerving stare. She had seen him a few times over the years, though she had never actually spoken with him before. She'd seen him coming from her father's office, conversing with Raines and even sharing jokes with Lyle, more recently. Yet, in all this time, she'd never heard his name, never known who he was.

He raised a mocking eyebrow at her, smiled and sauntered off.

The encounter left her unsettled. In that moment, she knew something sinister was going on at the Centre. Not that something sinister wasn't happening all the time, but she knew this wasn't the usual stirrings of evil.

If anyone could unravel this little mystery, it would be Broots. With that thought firmly in mind, she went in search for the resident computer geek.

She found him not too much later where he always was, his office, surrounded by computer terminals and whatnot.

"Broots!" her voice rang out.

The nervous little man snapped to attention, stammering, "Y-yes, Miss Parker?"

Seeing the man shudder visibly in intimidation put Parker in a better mood, as it usually did, "Have you ever seen a man with jet black hair and disturbingly brilliant green eyes? He's rather tall, with copper colored skin," she described.

Broots' eyes widened, "Actually Miss Parker, yeah I have. Why?"

Ignoring his question, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, "Do you know his name?"

"Well," Broots said, dragging the word out hesitantly.

"Do you know his name or not, Broots? I haven't got all day to listen to you stutter!" she snapped.

He nodded, "N-no, Miss Parker," he managed to answer, "I don't know who he is."

She sighed in frustration, "Then find out. That shouldn't be too hard for you, Broots," she sneered.

He nodded his head avidly, "Yes, Miss Parker."

They stood there, he staring at her with that stupid puppy dog look in his eyes, and she waiting for him to get a move on with her latest orders.

Gritting her teeth, she snarled, "Today Broots, can you find out today?" she tossed over her shoulder as she turned on her heel and stormed out.

By the time Jarod had pulled into a roadside motel, it was almost midnight. They were almost to Memphis. He was exhausted, but as soon as they got into the room, memories of a room similar to this one assaulted his mind's eye.

The motel was nothing more than a decently priced stop for weary travelers. It had seen better days. The paint was cracked and peeling, the carpets in need of a seriously deep steam cleaning and the bathroom's sink and toilet were permanently stained yellowish brown and nothing short of replacement could get them white again.

They had asked for one room with two beds. Jarod realized he wasn't going to get much sleep that night and he was glad he had requested separate beds now because Trista didn't need him to keep her up as well.

Once they both tiredly stumbled into the room, Trista groaned, "I just remembered I have no clothes, deodorant, tooth brush, nothing. Great!" she complained.

Jarod rummaged through his clothing until he came upon a pair of sweats and another t-shirt, this one white.

"Here, you can borrow these," he told her as he tossed them in her direction, too tired to aim more accurately, "I'll see if I can't find a drugstore with the rest of the things you need," he added, then yawned.

She nodded, bending to pick up the shirt which had fallen short and landed on the floor, then shuffled into the bathroom to change. A second later, he heard a high pitched shriek.

Panic filled him and without a second thought, Jarod ran to the bathroom door and flung it open. There Trista stood her eyes wide in fright as a cockroach flew past her face. She shrieked again, her hands began to swat at nothing as she ran into Jarod, pushing past him into the main room of the motel.

"Kill it, kill it, kill it! It attacked me! It's trying to get me!" she screamed hysterically.

Said roach landed on the far bathroom wall, next to the shower stall, complete with plastic water-stained doors. Jarod and the roach regarded one another for a moment, all while Trista still ranted about how it landed in her hair and tried to crawl into her shirt.

Sighing, Jarod gave the roach a crooked grin, "It seems you have to go, roach. You scared the shit out of my friend here," he told the bug cheerfully.

Grabbing one of the small plastic cups the motel provided, he unwrapped the plastic wrapping and went to capture the bug. Easily done, he had the roach trapped under the cup.

Trista poked her head in the bathroom, "Did you get it yet?" she asked breathlessly, her eyes darting back and forth surreptitiously.

He couldn't help it, Jarod began howling with laughter. It had just been one of those days and this was just the stress reliever he needed. Somehow or other, between fits of laughter and being scolded by Trista for not taking her fear of nasty critters flying in her face serious enough, Jarod managed to get the roach outside and let it loose, much to Trista's chagrin. However, it just wasn't in Jarod to kill the little bugger.

When Jarod closed the door, he noticed that Trista was back in the bathroom, sans the roach, and he was left alone with his brooding thoughts. He sat down on the bed, waiting for Trista to come out.

Five minutes later, the toilet flushed and the door opened. Trista, her hair pulled back loosely from her face, she looked so charmingly cute and girlish in his clothes that Jarod smiled at her. The sweats pooled around her ankles, and though baggy t-shirts had always been her style, she just looked lost in this one. She gave him a playful look then flopped onto her own bed.

"You've been moody since we arrived, want to talk?" she offered.

It had been six months since Jillian … could he?

Trista waited expectantly, pulling her knees up to rest her chin on them. Sitting there in that moment, her face expectant and still so innocent, she almost reminded Jarod of Jillian.

He gave her a mournful smile, "A friend of mine died several months ago."

She was silent, allowing him to gather his thoughts and remember her.

"She was … like me, a pretender. Only she was still at the Centre, and they wanted her to find me, bring me back. She agreed only because they had dangled her freedom in her face, knowing it was an irresistible temptation for her."

"What happened?" Trista prodded after Jarod was silent for several minutes.

"They captured me. But then she rescued me," he paused, "Somehow, they found us. I never knew how, I guess I didn't want to know. They surrounded us, but she was smarter than that. She grabbed one of their guns and held it to my head and threatened to make me useless to the Centre if they didn't allow us to leave. It took a lot of guts and courage for her to be able to convince them she was serious. They were going to let us leave. We were almost to the car too, when one of the sweepers shot her and she died."

"How horrible!" she whispered, clearly outraged.

Jarod could only nod.

"What was her name?" Trista wanted to know.

He tilted his head to the side, remembering the brief time they'd shared, "Jillian. Her name was Jillian."

He took a deep breath and willed himself to snap out of his current funk. He looked over at Trista ad gave her a sloppy half smile, "You should try and sleep. We have a long drive ahead of us tomorrow. I'm going to see if I can find a drugstore and a car seat. We'll need one for when we find Caitlyn," Jarod told her.

A hopeful smile answered his, "Thank you, Jarod," Trista murmured as she pulled the covers down and crawled beneath the sheets.